


Unshaken

by Hippychick90



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Children, Death, Dogs, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Loving Marriage, Pregnancy, Recovery, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-22 15:37:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hippychick90/pseuds/Hippychick90
Summary: In the event that Arthur survived the mountain, faked his death to escape the law and went out West.(fix it story!)





	1. The Last Stand

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote on Tumblr a few days ago, in the event that Arthur Morgan faked his death to escape the law, I pictured a long road to recovery, but when he was better, he'd build a nice ranch, finally find the woman of his dreams, settling down and having kids! He'd then die of old age.
> 
> So here it is:D

John stared at Arthur for a moment, trying to process what his friend - brother was trying to tell him. _Help fake his death._ It just didnt seem possible, but with the way he looked and probably felt, he was more or less dead already. It could work.

When John agreed to help, he and Arthur made one last plan to defeat the Pinkertons. They werent sure how the meeting with Dutch and Micah would go down, but _this_ had to go exactly the way they planned it. If it didnt one of them would surely die.

Of course nothing went as planned. The Pinkertons showed up with Micah, Dutch was a no show. Once the shooting began, Arthur became terrified that John wouldnt be up on the hill when he got there, terrified that they wouldnt be able to execute the plan. Terrified that he would _indeed_ die.

When he got to the top of the hill, his chest burning, about to collapse from the cold, he heard a hiss from the bushes behind him, he spun around and saw John crouching low.

"Over here!" He waved his hand.

Arthur limped over, clutching his injured leg. Once he was close he collapsed on the ground. John cursed and put his arms under his, tugging him further into the bushes. Arthur could barely breathe.

"Hey, its gonna be alright, we're almost done." He whispered.

Arthur turned to the side and coughed into the foliage. John sniffed and looked through the bushes, waiting for the Pinkertons.

"You got it?" Arthur breathed.

"Yeah."

Arthur hissed as he sat up, gripping the butt of his gun. John shushed him as horse hooves stomped up the hill. Arthur slowly got on his knees, tumbling over but catching himself with his hands. He looked over at John and gave a sharp nod.

John stood and slowly exited the bushes with his hands already raised, the Pinkertons wasted no time pointing their guns at him. Micah wasnt far behind, his gun also raised.

"Where's Arthur Morgan?" Agent Milton asked.

John looked down and sucked in a breath."He uh, he's gone. Dead."

A brief glance at Micah through his strands of black hair, showed the ghosting of emotion cross his face - almost like he cared for a split second. But John knew better. Micah never liked Arthur and Arthur never liked him.

"Give us his body then." Agent Milton demanded.

"I cant do that."

"Why not?"

John swallowed. He looked at Micah, then back to the Pinkertons. He ripped the revolver from his gun belt and shot the closest Agent. A shot rang out from the bushes and Agent Milton fell off his horse, clutching his throat.

John shot the last Pinkerton off his horse, just as Micah rushed past him toward the trees. John spun around and tackled him to the ground. Micah screamed and threw a few punched, only one connecting with his jaw.

"Stop it!" John demanded gripping him by the shirt collar."You fucking rat, you stupid fucking rat!"

"John…"

He glanced over his shoulder to see Arthur standing there, swaying on his feet, his injured leg cocked at the knee. John looked back to Micah and socked him once, just hard enough to stun him. He stood up and shook his hand as it throbbed.

"They're gonna hear that…the rest of 'em. Dutch and the-" John kicked him in the ribs. Micah screamed in agony.

Arthur knelt down beside him and using all that he had, slugged him in the face, but it nearly knocked the wind out of him. He moved his hand to Micah's neck, pressing the barrel of his gun to his temple.

"You fucking dirty rat, I shoulda killed you a long time ago." Arthur seethed.

Micah spat in his face as one last act of defiance. Arthur squeezed his fingers around his neck, feeling the strum of his raging pulse against his finger tips. Micah grinned. Arthur cocked his gun and bowed his head trying to catch his breath, when Micah began to laugh at him. Arthur looked up just as John pressed the barrel of _his_ gun to Micah's head.

"Ain't got much time, brother. Do it or I will."

Arthur looked down at this pathetic creature that Dutch claimed was like a son to him. He felt no love for his fallen brother, never did and never would. He squeezed the trigger and all life that was in Micah suddenly drained, his eyes glazed over a sickening grey and his chest was eerily still. It was over. He was _dead_.

Arthur fell back on his butt, staring at the cold ground beneath him. John walked over and hoisted him up to his feet. Arthur was practically lifeless in his arms as he ushered him down the slight incline of the mountain. They knew they didn't have much time, the rest of the Pinkertons heard those shots, they'd be there in no time to investigate.

"I can't." Arthur clutched John's jacket as he fell to the ground."I'm sorry...just leave me."

"You still got a lot of livin' left!" He grabbed his arm and started to pull him to his feet again."The wagon ain't too far away."

"I..."Arthur wheezed."Just...Just set me down. Please."

"No!"

"Arthur Morgan! John Marston!" A loud voice broke through the morning air.

"Shit!"

John grabbed Arthur's arm and tried pulling him back to his feet, but Arthur was hurting too much to help himself up. With nothing else left to do, John pulled his gun out and took a seat beside Arthur. If Arthur was going to die at the hands of the Pinkertons, then so was he.

"You gotta go." Arthur rasped."You got a family-"

"I ain't goin' nowhere."

"You're a little...asshole."

John laughed."That may be so, but I learned it from you."

And as John predicted, the Pinkertons broke through the tree line, their guns drawn on them as they drew nearer. John didn't flinch, didn't even raise his gun. Arthur was struggling to breathe, wheezing and coughing, sounding just God awful. John knew what he had to do, but didn't know if he could do it alone, unfortunately.

"Mr. Marston." Edgar Ross sneered."Good to see you again."

John snorted."Wish I could say the same."

"Is that...Is that Mr. Morgan?" He stretched his neck."Guess the rumors are true then, huh?"

Arthur reached down and gripped the butt of his gun. If he was going to die by them, he sure as hell wasn't going down without a fight.

John slowly stood, raising his hands in the air. Agent Ross jumped down off his horse and sauntered over, smirking as he grabbed ahold of John's arm, shoving him towards a rather large boulder. Arthur ripped his gun from his holster and aimed it at Johnathan Deeley, third in command. He pulled the trigger and the man fell off his horse.

John elbowed Agent Ross in the face, knocking him down long enough so he could retrieve his gun. He aimed the revolver at Agent Ross and was about to pull his sawed off on the other Agent, when he saw Arthur swaying towards the man, his gun raised.

"Get down off the horse." He demanded."Now!"

"Arthur!" A dark voice called out.

He froze in place clutching his chest, seeing the dark haired man, whom he'd looked up to ever since he was young, come out from behind the Agent's horse. Arthur's face fell and he almost lost his balance. Dutch walked over to him at a slow menacing pace.

"It was you?" Arthur questioned, in complete disbelief.

"Micah said some things to me, made me believe you were the rat." Dutch looked down, frowning.

"But it wasn't me!" Arthur cried.

"It was Micah, I know." Dutch walked over to the Agent on the ground."You're new to the ranks, huh?"

"Y-Yes S-Sir." He stuttered, tears pouring down his face.

"Do you want to live?"

"Yes, please!" He begged."Oh God, please!"

Dutch knelt down beside him."Well, we all want things we can't have." He pulled out his knife and slid it across the man's throat, catching him mid scream.

"Dutch!" Arthur yelled.

"I had to find out who the rat was, Arthur! I have no need for them anymore!" He stood up and turned to John."Kill him now!"

Arthur turned to John about to protest, when he pulled the trigger. There was a scuffle, Arthur turned and Dutch was gone. He turned back to John, mouth agape. John took off into the woods after Dutch, shooting into the darkness, hoping a bullet would at least graze the son of a bitch!

Arthur limped to the tree line, calling out to John, while trying to stay somewhat conscious. He finally found refuge leaning against a horse.

John stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, defeated. Though he was tempted to continue tracking him, he knew Arthur needed help more than he needed to kill Dutch. He slinked back down the way he came, to Arthur waiting near a horse, holding his head. John placed his hand on Arthur's back - the slowly man lifted his head.

"He's gone."

Arthur sighed."Don't worry 'bout it. He ain't worth it."

"He's a traitor. He wanted you dead! He should be dead!"

"It ain't worth it no more, John!" Arthur keeled over coughing.

John nodded helped him back up."C'mon, we need to find you a doctor."

"Don't worry...about it, I'm half dead already."

"You ain't dead yet." He helped Arthur walk down to the waiting wagon."...And I ain't gonna let you die."

"Thank you." Arthur breathed, his breath catching in the crisp morning air.

"You're my brother. I'd do anything for you."

And he did.

* * *

_John stared at the cross that he worked so hard on, with every intricate detail that Arthur asked for._

**_Arthur Morgan_ **

**_Blessed are those who hunger,_ **

_**and thirst for righteousness** _

_He lowered his head._

_He didn't know if it would work, but it was Arthur's wishes. He wanted to start over fresh, no baggage, nothing lingering over his head. If everyone thought he was dead, and no doubt they did, he could finally be free._

_The only obstacle he faced now was to get better._


	2. Long Road Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The recovery period starts.  
> Lots of Angst.

_"Here." Arthur slowly took his hat off and placed it on John's head._

_"I can't, Arthur-"_

_"Please, I...I'd rather you have it than them take it."_

_John lowered his head as Arthur placed the hat on, pushing it down so that it was snug._

_"Go get your family an' head west."_

_"I'll never forget this, Arthur. You saved my family."_

_H_ _e nodded, lowering his head just enough so that John couldn't see his tears._

_"Don't thank me, just...go."_

_J_ _ohn nodded and finally managed to turn his back to Arthur, hurrying through the foggy field. Arthur did all he could do, and all he could do just happened to not be enough. Not enough to bargain with death to hold off another day._

_He laid down in the field amongst the red and purple flowers, the ground was suddenly warm and the grass was soft like a cloud. He turned his head to the side and saw the sun rising as the fog disappearing. He offered one last smile and a raspy chuckle._

_"_ _This is it, huh?" His voice wavered a little."...I gave it my best shot, it's all in your hands now."_

Arthur's eyes opened and everything was blurry and white, he could hear voices all around him and for a split second he thought this was Heaven, but surely he'd be able to see everyone they'd lost, right? His chest felt on fire and that sounded more feasible than heaven - spend all eternity in a firey damnation for his sins. But this didn't feel like Heaven or Hell. He rubbed his eyes and they cleared just enough that he saw someone hovering over him. He couldn't make out a face, but they had a gentle touch.

"Daddy, he's awake."

 _She?_ It was a woman. Was it Charlotte Balfour? No it couldn't be, she was in the mountains, she wouldn't be down this way. But then again, he's not sure how far he travelled or even where the hell he was. For all he knew he was in Tahiti.

Suddenly his body began to shake violently. He felt cold. He tried to stop himself, but he couldn't even think straight. Couldn't speak or even hear. Everything just went black.

The next time he woke up, his vision was a bit clearer, still foggy however. He could tell he was in a room, but that was it. To keep his eyes open was making him queasy. He closed them and breathed in and exhaled slowly.

"Do you know your name, Sir?"

"Arthur...Morgan." He breathed."Though - I could be wrong."

Something cool was laid on his head and he smelled the faint sent of lavender."Lorna Belle, nice to meet you Mr. Morgan."

"Don't happen to know a Micah Bell do ya?"

"No, I don't. Whose he?"

He shook his head but instantly regretted it. His stomach lurched and he nearly vomited. Lorna laid a hand on his chest and it seemed to still the raging storm inside him.

"Uh." He swallowed a thick bile."Where am I?"

"New Austin. Your friend, John, he brought you here. You were in bad shape. My daddy thought you were dead."

"Probably should be." He grumbled.

She sighed."Well, from what I hear, you were lucky to get out alive."

"That so?"

Lorna lifted the cool rag and dunked it back into the water basin, wringing it out good and well before laying it back on his forehead.

"Could I trouble you for some...water?" His tongue darted out and licked his chapped lips.

"Of course." She stood up."I'll be right back."

She walked through the parlor down the hall to the kitchen. She grabbed a small tin camping cup and used the pitcher of water from the ice box. She walked back into the spare room and set the cup down on the table beside the bed.

"Can you sit up?"

"...Uh, not exactly Miss, ya may have to help me."

"Just leave the rag over your eyes."

She slowly lifted the man's head up and put the cup to his lips. He drank greedily, some water trickling down his chin and neck. When he was done drinking, his head dropped back on to the pillow. Lorna used the back of her hand to wipe his neck and chin.

"Thank you." He panted.

"You're welcome."

He swallowed."Lorna, is it?"

"Yes."

He cleared his throat."How - How long have I been here?"

"About a week. Your friends are just over the hill, I think they're building a house."

"Two answers for one question."

She supressed a giggle."Well, I knew you would ask about them next."

He smiled faintly.

"I think you should rest, Mr. Morgan. You won't get any better unless you do." She pulled the covers up over his bare chest.

He felt around for her hand and when he found it, he reached up and grabbed ahold of her arm. She stopped fixing the sheets and he could sense she was a bit startled.

"Could uh, could you maybe stay here...for a while?"

Lorna smiled warmly, though he couldn't see it."Of course."

She sat back down and ran her fingers over his head, through his oily flaxen hair.

* * *

He woke up sometime in the night, alone in the pitch dark, his bladder full with urgency. He slowly sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, his head pounding fiercely. He grabbed ahold of the nightstand beside the bed and pulled himself to his feet. His vision was still blurred and he swayed on his feet, but, his main focus was on his urgent need to relieve himself. He stumbled to the door, feeling like a foal fresh out of the womb.

The door creaked open and he stepped out, nearly knocking into the bookshelf. He could barely make out what room he was in as he stumbled into the sofa, stubbing his toe on the wooden leg. He groaned to himself.

"Shit."

"Mr. Morgan?"

He nodded his head."Mhmm."

"What're you doing out of bed?"

"Uh...Could you point me in the direction of the out house?"

Lorna blushed."Oh. We have one in the house now."

He was ushered down the hall into a small room on the right, Lorna turned on the lantern and it illuminated the small room. Arthur stumbled in and walked over to the new fangled toilet. It had a long chain to pull, he was assuming to flush your business down the drain, why else would it be there? They've come along way from having to dig up holes for out houses.

He kept his head low as he relieved himself, that way he didn't pass out from the room spinning. When he finished he pulled on the chain and if he weren't so sick, he'd probably be amazed by the contraption. He walked to the door and pulled it open, Lorna was sitting on the staircase waiting for him, though she looked like she was asleep.

"Are you feeling better now?"

He nodded."Uh...I _could_ be better."

Lorna stood up and grabbed his arm, guiding him back to the spare room. He groaned and swayed, having to grip the wall for support. Lorna waited patiently until he was able to walk again. When he was finally in bed, he leaned over and hurled on to the floor, but it was just all bile, thankfully. Lorna frowned and touched his back.

"Why's the room spinnin'?"

"You had a seziure a few days ago, not sure if that has anything to do with it."

"A what?" He panted.

She sat on the edge of the bed."We're not sure why it happens, but we know it happens to a person who's sick...I'm assuming you know of your condition?"

He laid back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, feeling even worse than he did before he threw up. Lorna pulled the covers up over his chest.

"Am I..."He swallowed."-dyin'?"

She shook her head."My daddy says if you rest and stay some place dry, you'll be able to live a while longer. But there's really no telling." She paused."There is this older gentlemen in church who contracted it, but it went into remission a few years back. He's still living."

"That mean it went away?"

"Yes, but..."She heaved a sigh."It _could_ come back."

Arthur snorted.

"But that doesn't mean it will. It's just a strong possibility." She tried.

"It don't much matter." He exhaled a shaky breath, rolling on to his side."...I ain't worth tryin' to save."

"That's not true, Mr. Morgan." She touched his shoulder.

"Better chance of me dyin' than gettin' better."

She frowned and looked down."...Oh, uh, well you should rest now. G-Goodnight."

"Night, Miss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So an indoor outhouse, a new concept for Arthur lol  
> I don't really know if they worked like that, but we'll just pretend for the heck of it *shrugs*
> 
> FYI, for anyone wondering, the beginning in the italics are his sick induced dreams. They won't happen all the time though.


	3. Some Wounds Run Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a hard time coping with things; Lorna tries to help him.

A few days had gone by since he nearly died, surprisingly, he was pretty sour about the event. For months he came to accept that he was dying, but no one told him how to accept living. It was a lot harder than he initially thought it'd be, and it left him wondering if maybe he should've just died.

Lorna Belle and her father have been kind to him, but he wondered if they'd treat him differently, had they known he was a criminal? If the shoe was on the other foot, he wouldn't trust him as far as he could throw him. But they were good Christian folk, who prided themselves on helping others. He was just another charity case to them.

"Ah, Mr. Morgan, you're awake!" Doctor Belle chimed.

"Guess that's a good thing."

He slid a chair over beside the bed and sat down."How are we feeling today?"

Arthur shook his head."I'm alive."

Doctor Belle adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose."I'd think that would be a blessing, Son. You're a young man, you can finally better yourself - settle down and start a family."

"Ain't nobody gonna want me." He replied dryly.

"Don't be too sure of that, Mr. Morgan. There's lots of women who'd want a strong and loyal fella like yourself."

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, when the door to the bedroom opened and in came his daughter, Lorna. Now that he could actually see, he realized just how attractive she was. Beautiful even. She set the water basin down on the dresser, and placed a few clean wash rags next to it.

"Take a deep breath." Doctor Belle ordered, placing his stethoscope on his chest.

Arthur obeyed, taking in a ragged breath, exhaling with a string of coughs. The Doctor nodded and folded up his stethoscope.

"What's the verdict?" He wiped his mouth.

The older man heaved a sigh."Well...I think you're going to live. The question being how long?"

Arthur swallowed and looked down.

"Mr. Dobbs is still living, daddy." Lorna pointed out.

"That is true. He was near dead, like you. Moved out here and it quite literally saved his life." He stood up and slid the chair back in the corner.

After he left, Lorna walked over with the water basin and a wash cloth, she sat down on the edge of his bed and dunked the bar of soap in the water. She dropped the wash cloth in next, letting it soak up the water, before wringing it out. She lifted his arm and began sliding the fabric up and down his arms in a rhythmic motion, lathering up his skin with the lavender scented soap he smelled before.

"You're looking better, if that makes a difference at all."

Arthur snorted."Don't matter much to me."

She frowned as she washed the soap off his skin. She noted the scars that littered up and down his arms, his shoulders, his sides. He definitely wasn't a farmer or a rancher like he claimed. She had a strong feeling he was a cowboy, and not in the traditional sense, but an outlaw.

Most would be afraid with that revelation, but she wasn't. She was more intrigued than anything. She'd read the countless stories about Black Belle, Jim boy Calloway and Billy Midnight. She never told her daddy, but she secretly wished to meet a cowboy and ride away from her structured perfect life.

"What you said last night...about you having a better chance of living than dying? Did...did you mean it?"

"...Yes-"

Truth be told, he still wished to die, so that he didn't have to suffer any longer, but dying at the hands of Micah, Dutch or the Pinkertons was out of the question. He just wanted to die peacefully at his own pace, and just be another memory long forgotten in the years to come.

Lorna frowned as she moved to his chest, lathering up his skin. He looked away, almost as if he were ashamed. She dunked the rag back in the water and wrung it out. She wiped the soap away and moved on to his other arm, repeating the process until he was clean.

"Thank you." He mumbled.

She nodded and picked up the bowl of soapy water."Do you need anything else?"

"Uh just my satchel." He pointed to the dresser.

She nodded and picked up the worn leather bag and laid it on the bed next to him. She left the room with the bowl of soapy water and into the kitchen, greeting her daddy, who was sitting at the kitchen table probably re-reading the morning newspaper.

"He's a sad soul." Lorna commented.

Johnathan peered over the top of the newspaper."He's a very sick man, with little to live for. Wouldn't you be sad too?"

Lorna frowned and tossed the dish rag on the counter."I feel like I should do something to help him."

"We're doing the Lord's work, Lorna. There's nothing you can do that we're not already doing." He reminded.

She nodded."I know, I mean...I just wish I could do something nice for him, to remind him that living isn't so bad."

"Just give him time. He needs to come to that determination on his own - forcing him will only frustrate him."

Her father made sense, but she didn't want to accept defeat that easily. There were a ton of things she could do to make him smile, or just be grateful to see the sun rise and set once more.

 _It's been a while since I wrote, but I'm alive and I've been told that's a good thing. Apparently being sick and wanting to die is a sin. Funny how things work out, because I'm_ _staying with this Christian family, two kids and their daddy, the Doctor who fixed me up._

_They're good to me, but, they think they know me. They don't even know the half of it. If they had known who I really was, would they even want me here? I'm gonna say no, because I wouldn't want the likes of me messing up my perfect life._

_But at least I got something pretty to look at, guess I can count that as a win for life. The daughter, Lorna, she's got dark hair and green eyes. Ain't too sure why dark hair is so prominent in my life, maybe it's an omen? Anyway, she's been real good to me, talking to me about this and that, trying to make me feel like I'm somewhat human. I don't really know why they care so much about a stranger, especially with black lung._

_I don't know when I'm getting the hell out of here, the Doc won't let me leave, says I need rest and relaxation. John ain't even been here to see me. I heard he was building a house just over the hill though, so I guess he's been busy._

_Abigail was nice enough to bring me some books, coincidentally they're the books from my tent back at camp, before everything went to hell. Didn't get a chance to read them, but...I guess my luck is changing, cause I have all the time in the world now._

He closed his journal and shoved it back in his satchel. He laid his head against the wall as he stared out of the picture window, his view was of a clothes line, but beyond that the mountains. He couldn't bring himself to even care in the slightest bit, didn't even feel the urge to snap a picture of the marvelous sight.

The door to the bedroom opened and Lorna walked in again, a cup of steaming hot tea and a few crackers on a plate. She set them both down on the nightstand and walked over to the window, she twisted the lock and lifted it up. The warm air hit his face and he suddenly felt nostalgic for a place unknown to him.

"My daddy says to start you off light since you're back on solids, so crackers and tea will have to do until supper."

He nodded.

Lorna handed him the cup of tea and plate of crackers, he blew on the steaming liquid before tasting it. His face contorted a bit and she found herself smiling.

"Too much lemon?"

"A little." He rasped.

"Sorry." She blushed."I could make you another cup?"

"Nah, it's fine."

She nodded and took a seat beside the bed. Arthur was still shirtless and felt exposed, especially with her watching him. He couldn't exactly say anything about it now, but he'd have to remember to put a shirt on after she left. She'd seen enough of him for one day. She picked up one of the books Abigail left, and thumbed through it while he sipped his tea.

"Who was that woman that dropped these off?"

He cleared his throat."John's wife, Abigail."

She nodded."Oh, I thought she was _your_ wife."

"No." He shook his head."Just a friend."

She smiled and set the book back down."It's good you have the friends you have."

"I suppose." He was grateful for them, just in no mood to talk.

Lorna could sense that she wasn't wanted, but she didn't really want to leave. There was something about him that was...magnetic, like a moth to a flame. But she wouldn't push his buttons for fear he would get frustrated with her. Her father still wasn't sure when he'd be able to leave, so she really didn't need him sneaking out in the middle of the night to get away from them.

"Could I ask you a question, Mr. Morgan?"

He turned, giving her his attention - at the moment, it's really all he could offer.

She blushed."Are you a gunslinger?"

"Yes." He replied honestly and unafraid, but sincerely hoping she was _indeed_ , afraid.

"I had a feeling." She smiled."...I started to think you were attacked by a wild animal with all those scars."

He breathed somewhat of a laugh, but it was more of a snort.

"...Are they from fights?"

"Ma'am. I'm a criminal, what more do ya need to know?"

She mentally chided herself for asking too many questions."Right, I'm sorry. I-I'll just go." She stood up and slid the chair back to the corner of the room."Um, your secret is safe with me, Mr. Morgan."

When she left the room, shutting the door until it clicked shut, he breathed a sigh of relief. She was really talkative and it was beginning to piss him off, but he was glad she left. Though, for some odd reason, he hoped she came back.

Once he finished his tea and crackers, he set the plate and cup on the table beside the bed. He sat back and pulled his satchel over toward him. It'd been a while since he actually went through it, and since he had the time, he figured he should at least attempt to clean it out.

Well a dozen letters, two packs of gum, a flask of moonshine and an unopened pack of cigarettes later, he finished cleaning out his satchel. He shook his head at himself, feeling a bit silly for holding on to things for long periods of time - the treasure maps and the countless cigarette cards, the letters from Mary and a few golden nuggets.

Although silly of him to hold on to mundane things, it was something he'd look forward to seeing before bed. He'd re-read the letters from Mary and think about what could've been, if only he was a better man. He'd examine the treasure maps, hoping to figure it out before total exhaustion set in. Or counting the golden nuggets he received over the years. But none of that mattered anymore, they were all just possessions of his former life - the man he used to be - the man he was never proud of.

He laid his head back on the headboard, once again finding himself staring out of the picture window. The sky was a dark grey now and the wind was beginning to whip - a storm was rolling in. But even so, it was beautiful. Too beautiful for words, not even a picture would do it justice. And for the first time since that night, he was glad he was alive to see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of angst, cause I'm a sucker for pain *shrugs*  
> So Arthur is in a dark place right now, he doesn't really want to live, he doesn't even find beauty in his surroundings - until the end when the storm is rolling in. His attitude towards life will start to change throughout the story, he just needs time.


End file.
